Man in Black
by seaecho
Summary: Davy is home alone, Peter shows up, and he has ideas. One-shot slash. Sexual situations, some language.
1. Chapter 1

Davy sat quietly on the couch, not having bothered to even turn on the table lamp as dusk hovered and promised to soon enfold him. He was in a rare mood tonight. Wistful, pensive and contemplative. Add to that a little dreamy . . .

No particular emotion seemed to catch his fancy. It was just that he seemed to be extra heedful . . . but of what? The atmosphere? His spirit? His essence? But that was silly. That would be overly dramatic. The theatrical side of him must be taking over.

Just as he was pondering this, the door to the Pad opened via a hand that exhibited very slight, almost imperceptible hesitation, reminding Davy of skepticism, as if the owner of the hand harbored unspoken questions. After a brief moment, the person stepped inside in a refined manner, so atypical of any of his three room mates. In a bare second, Davy recognized him, although his discreet, restrained manner was divergent of his normal character.

Peter . . . dressed all in black. From his sweater, to his jeans, and right down to his boots. A hushed, dark and baffling manner accompanied his entrance.

 _This was not the Peter Davy knew._

Davy felt a shudder skate down his spine. Peter looked flawless. The blonde sun streaked mane, every hair in place, the confident air, the clack of his boot heels on the bare floor all commanded attention.

But most of all, it was his eyes . . . they adhered to Davy's eyes like a bulldog clamps onto an enemy. No mercy, no leniency. Davy got the impression there was no margin for error, _on his end._

Why would he feel that way? Absurd. Peter was Peter-innocuous and benevolent. He couldn't have changed in a few hours. But right now, the bassist looked almost intolerant. Impatient, but in a very disciplined way. Determined, his strong jaw firm and decisive. There was a resolve in the man's eyes. And Davy, usually the strong-willed, purposeful one, was humbled in a way he wasn't sure he favored.

Peter, apparently single-minded, solemnly approached the couch Davy was perched on. He essentially stalked, his step slow and measured, his eyes still boring holes in Davy's own eyes, even as Davy refused to look away. To say Peter disconcerted him would not be quite descriptive enough.

The man was breathtaking. Peter was a handsome piece of artwork all in black with that dauntless look on his face. It was disrupting in the extreme though, because it was completely foreign. You never saw Peter looking intrepid like this.

Davy suppressed a shiver and let Peter's gaze continue to grip him. A gaze that was somber, yet not dreary. More like steadfast.

"What's up Pete?" Davy's attempt to sound light-hearted fell short. Frankly, his friend was giving him the creeps. It was as if Peter had morphed into Michael, when Michael had something really grim to say. And that could be decidedly disturbing.

Any road, gone was the Peter Davy knew. Peter had something on his mind, and Davy was more than disinclined to find out what it was. No one would describe Peter as formidable, but looking at Peter at the moment, Davy wouldn't find it particularly difficult to challenge someone to argue that notion.

Peter drew nearer, keeping his pace consistent and deliberate, and Davy had to steel himself to keep from shrinking away. A waft of Peter's cologne floated like the gentlest of breezes to Davy's nose, and caused his gut to clench. The most curious part about this was that Peter's expression was spooky, yet effective in getting Davy's attention—in a very becoming kind of way. Confidence looked good on him.

So did ominous, if there was any rhyme or reason to that. And there wasn't—not really. Dusk was waning already, twilight now spreading. Davy turned his head and glanced at the silhouette of the moon through the window.

It was full. _Figures._

Davy was stunned when the urge to flee almost overwhelmed him again. _From Peter?_ He must be bloody out of his mind. Peter was no threat of any kind, nor had he ever been. Yet his eyes had strayed from Peter's entrancing hazel ones, and Davy would prefer to keep it that way.

Peter still had not addressed Davy's greeting. He maintained that inscrutable, mysterious air. When he sat down next to Davy, Davy was secretly appalled, although any other day, it would have just been routine. Peter had a hungry wolf look about him.

"Did you miss me, Jonesy?" Peter finally broke the silence. Miss him? Davy had only seen him hours before. And by the way, where had Peter gotten dressed in those black clothes, and why was he so scrupulously clean, with his hair combed to perfection?

"Um . . . it's only been a short time since I saw you last . . ." Davy found it hard to form words around his dry mouth and tongue. His throat seemed to spasm too.

"When are you going to stop being so evasive with me?" Peter shot back. His voice was low and caressing, whisperish and tailored for seduction. What? Seduction? Davy was no prude, but he and Peter were friends. It was all they'd ever been. So what was Peter implying? Davy was becoming more agitated by the second. He wished Peter would stop eating him up with his eyes. He'd never seen this side of Peter, and he didn't _want_ to see it anymore. He hoped to God this was some kind of sick joke.

"What do you mean?" he asked, confusion showing clearly in his deep brown eyes.

"You parade around in your pajamas, brush your teeth in that sexy way, look at me in that suggestive way when you eat your cornflakes . . . "

"Wait a minute here, Mate! How is does one look at someone suggestively when one eats cornflakes! It's not possible."

"Oh yes it is, David. For you, _anything's_ possible!"

Davy gasped, a horrific sense of forboding cloaking him. "I've never, but _never_. . . wanted anyone but girls." Davy didn't like what Peter was more than insinuating.

"You flirt! You define temptation!" insisted Peter.

Ah, so there it was. Davy knew he hadn't done anything like that on purpose, and now Peter had just screwed himself. He'd admitted Davy tempted him. Through no fault of Davy's, to be sure. He'd only been himself. But Peter now had Davy feeling squeamish and uncomfortable.

"I have not ever . . . flirted with you," Davy blanched at the word. But he couldn't think of a similar descriptive word that didn't sound so . . . disgusting and distasteful. "I don't want any part of this conversation, as of this second!" Davy tried to sound assertive. "And by the way, where are Mike and Micky? Why aren't they home?"

Peter smiled not unlike the Cheshire Cat. "I gave 'em tickets to a double feature flick, and money to get dinner at Denny's afterward. They won't be home for at least five or six hours," Peter's eyes hinted of his sly thoughts, his plans, without openly revealing anything. That was perturbing. "And even if they _did_ come home early, I've got the keys!" He smugly dangled them in front of Davy's face.

Everyone knew Mike was the only one with keys to the Pad. They had all been too lazy to have copies made as of yet, even though they'd lived in the Pad for two years. So the door had just gone unlocked most of the time, unless they all went out together.

"How'd you get those?" Davy's suspicious eyes raked Peter brutally.

"I took 'em outta Mike's pants pocket. I'm good at picking pockets. Bet you didn't know that, did ya? I even put them back in his pocket too, less the Pad key, and got away with it! He's still got the Monkeemobile keys, _but no Pad key."_ Peter's smirk looked way too self-satisfied as he emphasized those last few words.

"When did you learn to pick pockets?" Davy was wondering what had happened to the sweet, generous, considerate Peter he'd thought he knew so well.

"Greenwich Village. When I was playing in the coffeehouses and the streets. A poor guy taught me. You never know when something like that might come in handy. I mean, like when the world's coming to an end, and it's everyone for themselves. Some desperate dog eat dog scenario like that. It could be a lifesaving skill. I haven't used it though . . . until today."

It wasn't cold in the room, but Davy was doing a sort of shiver-tremble thing. He could feel his insides quivering in the weirdest way.

"Why did you take Mike's keys anyway?" he asked in a thin voice. Peter got up off the couch and sauntered over to the front door, smugly and confidently locking it with a satisfying click and a flourish of his hand, never taking his eyes off Davy's.

"So we could be alone," he replied, and a grin that was positively evil took possession of his mouth. Now Davy's skin was crawling. How could Peter have put on an act that had fooled _all_ of them for so long? Uh-uh. No way, no how. Peter was putting on an act _right now._ And there must be a damn good reason for it, as Davy had never doubted Peter's integrity. Still didn't. It was just Peter's pretense that had Davy baffled.

"So . . . what are you saying, Peter? What's come over you?"

Peter rested his booted foot on a lower brick of the primitive coffee table. "We need to talk," Peter's face lost the wicked look, and he faltered for a moment. "I didn't know how else to . . . achieve it."

"Well, if you ask me, you're being quite _dramatic."_

"Nothing else works!" Peter sounded frustrated and crestfallen simultaneously. His self-assured, cocky behavior was crumbling right in front of Davy's eyes. A fragment of the real Peter was showing through now.

"Please stop acting in such a fucking cryptic way. Just tell me what's up," not for one minute was Davy buying this crap about Peter thinking he'd been "teasing" him. There had to be a lot more to this story. Peter certainly wasn't saying what it _sounded_ like he was saying. Davy's cheeks felt hot, and he was noticeably flustered. He sure _hoped_ it wasn't what it sounded like!

Momentarily, Davy wondered if Peter might have gone off the deep end, gone mental. But that didn't make a whole lot of sense. Peter had always been steady and perfectly reasonable, albeit maybe a bit emotional. And Davy knew enough to know that a person would surely show signs before they completely lost their marbles.

So, was this for real? Davy had been nothing but himself in front of the other guys. He hadn't oozed the charm like he did with girls. No reason to—they were guys. He'd burped, done more gross things than that, had acted like a complete idiot and had told countless jokes that were seriously off-color. How could Peter possibly find that attractive?

"Besides," he said as he decided to use it for ammunition. "We're all barbaric heathens in this household. Hardly endearing."

Peter scoffed. "If you only knew . . ."

"Cryptic again! If I only knew _what?"_

"Shouldn't be cryptic at all, David. I've all but spelled it out."

He had indeed spelled it out, but Davy's system wouldn't, _couldn't_ accept the shock. If he sprinted for the door, he could probably make a quick getaway. But wait, that was stupid. There was no reason to be running from Peter! Harmless, insipid Peter. The thought was bizarre.

"How come you've never said anything before this?" Davy was struggling to keep his head above water.

"Because . . . it was never the right time, I guess," Peter was becoming milder and looking like he might be losing a bit of his aplomb. This gave Davy incentive to get the blonde talking so he could find out just exactly what was on Peter's agenda.

"It hasn't been easy," Peter was taking the ball and running with it. "I've heard you moaning in your sleep sometimes. It makes me get ideas. Besides the ones I already had, that is."

 _The ones he already had?_

Davy wasn't gonna touch that one with a ten foot pole. And, son of a bitch, the moaning Peter had heard-he hoped Peter hadn't figured out he occasionally had wet dreams. Oh, the humiliation! His mind raced from there. He thought of all the times he'd been thinking of a girl and gotten a hard-on. It was difficult to hide in pajamas or when he walked around in just underwear or even in band pants. He wondered if Peter had noticed. Even as the thoughts flowed, Davy knew what the answer had to be. If Peter had been checking him out for ages, how would he miss that? Davy felt a little sick.

Now how to let Peter down gently? Davy still toyed with the idea of this being a joke, but in the same breath he knew Peter wouldn't be that cruel. This had to be kosher, much as he didn't want to even go there.

"We can just talk. At least I . . . have you to myself for a few hours," Peter's face sported a slightly pathetic, lost look. He'd gone to all this trouble—for him, Davy. Why? Davy was in danger of getting a headache if this kept up. It was taking a toll already. He could hardly see straight for the whirlwind of turmoil in his mind. His cherished friend—why did it have to come to this?

Unbidden, Davy's mind turned to other thoughts. He couldn't help but be astonished at how hot Peter looked all in black. It gave him a mysterious, enigmatic air. He'd looked so poised as he'd come in the door. So _in control._ Almost audacious. So very unlike Peter. And now Davy could see just how much of a performance Peter had put on. How much effort he'd put into it. And it was in vain, because now Peter looked disheartened. He was probably realizing the futility. It tweaked Davy's heart.

How long must Peter have been planning this? He'd gotten tickets to a movie both Mike and Micky wanted to see badly enough to drop anything else they might have had planned. He'd also made sure Davy would be home, likely by asking seemingly vague questions during small talk that Davy had answered offhandedly without realizing he was being hoodwinked. Then going to the trouble to dress so immaculately and impeccably—all for Davy! If that wasn't a compliment, then what was? Davy didn't know a whole lot of girls who would have gone to that much trouble.

Peter was staring at him expectantly, and Davy jolted, shying away slightly. Peter had said something while he'd been deep in thought. Oh yeah, he'd said he'd have Davy to himself for a few hours. Good Lord, what was he going to do? It wasn't as if Peter could overpower him—they all knew he couldn't. But the important question was, how was he going to put up with Peter's hints that weren't the least bit subtle for several hours?

"You aren't interested in guys, Pete. You just _think_ you are," he said somewhat weakly.

"You mean _you_. Only you, and yes . . . I am," was Peter's reply. "I oughta know by now. In two years it hasn't diminished."

Davy could think of no response for that one. It was too established in Peter's mind. It had obviously taken up permanent residence.

"Keeping my hands off you has been like curbing my appetite for ice cream; approaching impossible. And I've endured it silently," Peter raised his chin slightly as if to rub in the fact that he'd abstained from coming on to Davy, and should be applauded for it.

Again, Davy was engulfed with pity that hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. He also felt guilt where there shouldn't be any. He couldn't be responsible for Peter's yearnings, damn it! Just because he was the source of it didn't change things either. He felt a moment of resentment that this was resting on his shoulders. Why couldn't Peter have these feelings for Mike or Micky? Why him?

Because it was _always_ him. Like it or not, he regularly got proposals from both women and men. It was admittedly more often women, but he'd seen men staring at him too. He was burned out on it. Shallow people, shallow motives. They just wanted to use his body, most of them. It wasn't arrogance or conceit on his part; it was just a fact.

He liked to get to know women first. He wasn't comfortable with hopping into bed with strangers, although he'd done his fair share of it anyway, simply because it had been so available. It had felt adventurous, until it had lost its appeal. And here Peter was offering—what? Davy didn't even know exactly where Peter's head was in all of this. He _did_ know one thing though, and that was that Peter wasn't shallow. He was deep, but it usually wasn't apparent until you got to know him. Given a chance, Peter could charm even the most grumpy of the cynical. But he was so often passed over and not taken seriously because he had a way of withholding his ability to enamor. So Davy, who was mostly in the spotlight anyway, completely obliterated what Peter had to offer. Not that Davy had meant to. It just always transpired in that way.

Pondering all this, Davy's attention had wandered from Peter, so he startled quite sharply when Peter's hand settled on his shoulder.

"I have to know . . ." Peter paused, presumably petrified. Davy could read him more than passably well, and the lack of confidence was overriding the facade of brashness Peter had been wearing when he'd entered the room.

Davy raised his eyebrows as he coaxed his eyes to meet Peter's. Yes, definitely fear there.

"I have to know . . . how you feel about me."

Davy could not believe Peter's audacity. He'd already told him he wanted no part of this conversation, that he'd never wanted anyone but girls, and yet Peter had extended the conversation anyway. Davy was no less at blame though, for he had allowed Peter to continue. Now he'd gotten himself in deep shit. Peter was putting him on the spot. Peter was also leaving himself vulnerable to some big-time hurt. Peter was clearly the one with the most to lose. So Davy had to somehow figure out how to be subtle, yet still get the message across.

"Since Micky and Mike are going out to dinner, I'm gonna go get a pizza for us," Peter had changed tactics and was apparently not going to insist on an answer from Davy.

"I'll go with you," Davy felt he should at least do that since Peter had spent enough of his own money already tonight. Peter's eyes lit up at this, but whether it was because he was happy to have company, or because that company would be Davy, who knew?

With no car, they walked to a nearby pizza place the boys often frequented. As Davy paid for the combination pizza before Peter got a chance to, Peter asked for bread sticks and anchovies on the side, while standing just a little too close to Davy, his body heat infiltrating Davy's clothes. It was subtle, and Davy wasn't at all sure it was intentional, but the curious part was that he was finding that he wasn't minding it at all. When Peter casually brushed his forearm against Davy, the Brit suddenly felt a tingle in his groin, and that turned into a rush. A _pleasurable_ rush.

Okay, so Peter had come unhinged, and seemed to have dragged Davy right along with him! _Thanks a lot, Pete!_

"Oh, and . . . can we also have sardines with that too, please?" Peter asked the cashier.

"Are you quite done, now?" Davy inquired, embarrassed because of all Peter's requests.

"I'll pay for the extras."

"No! You won't! Just cool it." Davy pulled out a twenty and handed it to the cashier who was busy making goo-goo eyes at him. For one of the few times in his life, Davy didn't turn on the charisma, even though she was attractive. He wasn't quite sure why either.

Twenty minutes later, they left, hot pizza in hand and returned to the Pad. It smelled so good, and Davy wondered how he'd forgotten how hungry he was. He guessed Peter had distracted him with all his humiliating remarks. Not that Peter had meant to humiliate him, and humiliate was a rather strong word anyway. It was just that Davy had been a little offended. Why would Peter so freely tell him something like that? When he knew Davy was a lover of the ladies?

Davy felt as if he'd been splashed with shame. Who was he to judge Peter? He knew that Peter spoke his mind. Peter had trouble hiding his sentiments. He'd been attached to Davy for some time, but Davy had never questioned it, thinking Peter was just being a great friend, which he was, but Davy's mistake had evidently been not reading anything else into it.

 _He should have been more careful._

They sat next to each other, silently eating the pizza, sipping Cokes, Peter's eyes on Davy, Davy trying to dodge Peter's eyes.

To Davy's alarmed dismay, the tingling had begun again. His head spun with excuses. Peter had just put ideas into his head, and subconsciously, in some weird, perverted way, it had turned Davy on. It couldn't be for real. Impossible. Peter couldn't possibly make him tingle. But the more he thought about it, the more skittish he became. This time, Peter wasn't even touching him, and that was the most alarming of all.

"Why did you spiff yourself up, dress all in black, and then come in the door all dodgy like you did, knowing I was the only one home?" Davy had serious misgivings after he said that—why in the _hell_ had he asked? Especially when he wasn't at all sure he wanted to know the answer.

"I did it for you," Peter said this as casually as if he'd rehearsed it a thousand times.

Davy's mouth formed more words, against his will. "And why would you do it for me?" Damn it, if he didn't quit asking questions, Peter was going to end up embarrassing the shit out of him.

"I thought it might please you." So innocent sounding, yet so telling. Everyday conversation was how Peter's inflection struck Davy, yet Davy saw the ever slight tremble in Peter's hand when he picked up his Coke for a sip, how his lips quivered so subtly that Davy almost didn't catch it. The bassist was still nervous, but these were smooth moves for Peter. Bold moves. He _had_ to have practiced it.

Peter's eyes grabbed Davy's, and brown and hazel meshed. Peter spoke up, and his voice was suddenly buttery soft, almost sensual. "Can I just look at you for a while?"

No one but Peter, with his guileless, pure way of asking a question. But what a loaded question it was. Davy found it unnerving how Peter could be so plain spoken about it, yet add in that sultry flavor to it, that tang of sensuality.

"You can look at me most of every day, and part of the night too," Davy was grasping at straws, stalling, hoping there would be a reasonable explanation for this insanity. But so much had already been said that he knew there was no masking his discomfiture, his confusion, his embarrassment. Peter knew that _he_ knew. And there was no getting around that.

"I don't get to look at you the way I want to," Peter explained. "There's always the other guys around, and when we finally go into the bedroom, it's time for bed, and the light goes out, and there goes any opportunity I might have to . . . stare at you in private. Look at you for as long as I want."

Davy was becoming completely flustered and strangely agitated. An odd tension hung in the air.

When Peter spoke again, his voice flowed over Davy like hot chocolate. "Please . . . indulge me, David."


	2. Chapter 2

_How was **that** for making a person feel uncomfortable? Peter wanted to look at him. Was this seriously happening? _

_This was too much. Just too much. Almost laughable. But not quite.  
_

The hot chocolate feeling continued on mercilessly, pouring over Davy in a torrent, drenching him. He was drowning in it. Even worse, it tasted good, much to his mortification, and he was losing his composure. Worst of all, the tingling was at it again. It hadn't, in fact, ever stopped.

"You haven't answered me," Peter's big doe eyes explored Davy's face.

"Bloody hell, Pete. How can I tell you no? You'll do it anyway."

Peter took this as a positive sign and clasped onto it before Davy could take it back. He put it to immediate use. His eyes traveled all over the smaller man's upper body. His face, hair, chest, shoulders and stomach. As if he were relishing every moment of the freedom that had been denied him for way too long.

 _As if his eyes were his hands._

Christ, but Davy felt as if he were on display. And the tingling was getting worse all the time. He came up empty handed when he tried to think of something clever to say to tone down Peter's intensity. The heat was building so fast that the room was about to explode. Wasn't he feeling cold not that long ago?

"Is it massively hot in here?" asked Davy, although he wasn't making a joke. He really _did_ wonder if it was hot because he, himself, seemed to be burning up.

"It's October. So I don't think it's _really_ hot. It's your imagination. It's about fifty-five out there on the beach."

Terrific. Now Peter had made him feel all kinds of stupid. And he wondered if Peter had caught on as to _why_ he was so hot. He hoped to God he hadn't.

Davy got up to put the pizza box in the trash, just to have something to do. Peter got up too, and helped to bend it so it would fit into the trash can.

"I really don't need help with this, ya know," Davy's voice was slightly edgy. He felt strange with Peter's eyes still glued to him. Exploited or something. "And you don't need to stand so bloody close to me either," he added. A trace of annoyance now escaped his lips. Peter was actually touching him, pressing against him, and it was completely unnecessary. Normally it wouldn't bother him, but in this situation . . .

"You gonna move away?" Davy demanded coarsely, as he was practically pinned up against the wall.

"Nope," said Peter, flippantly, throwing in a wise-ass look. "Don't wanna."

Davy stifled a giggle. Peter had a good sense of humor, and his flirting was hard to disregard. He was brave too, knowing Davy could have quite the temper. Davy stole a sideways glance at him just in time to see a flicker in those hazel eyes of, what? Mischief? So Peter was having fun with this.

Davy thrust the half-folded pizza box into Peter's hands, and flounced back into the living room, flopping down on the couch, feeling like he'd better resign himself to this, because they had at least five more hours of it, and Peter was like a hound dog hot on the rabbit's trail.

A feeling came over Davy just then that disconcerted and flummoxed him. A kind of intensity clung to him, but where it was coming from, he had no idea. He looked over his shoulder at Peter, and Peter's steady gaze had not wavered. He was still at it! When would he forget, or get distracted, and stop hounding Davy with those sweet eyes that were currently almost the color of honey? Not anytime soon.

Peter's eyes had captured Davy's securely, and all of a sudden, there was no getting away. The stare went on and on. It was amazing what a stare could do. It was so extreme that Davy had to remind himself to keep breathing. Their eyes still held several minutes later, when Peter began to walk toward Davy. Davy shifted nervously on the couch.

 _This is not going to end well unless I take action._

But Davy didn't take action, simply because he _couldn't._ Peter had him entranced, and he sensed there was no way of avoiding it. He couldn't bolt, because he doubted he could make his legs move.

 _Oh fuck. He's approaching._

Well, he'd given Peter permission to stare, so there was no way to rebuff it. Peter's eyes were so penetrating, so fixed on Davy that it seemed that it was his life's purpose. Davy's breath was shallow and weak as Peter finally reached him. Neither of them looked away, and Davy didn't stir as Peter sat beside him.

Then Peter's hand lifted toward Davy's face, and time was suspended until at last his finger touched Davy's bottom lip. Davy was jarred, but didn't give Peter the satisfaction of pulling away.

"Why ya doing that?" he asked.

Davy had given Peter permission to stare, but not to touch.

"I've always wanted to. I see those plump, luscious lips every day, and I've wondered if they were as soft as they look . . . and they are." Peter's voice had that caressing quality again. Smooth and silky. Davy began to tingle again, it having abated only briefly when he'd returned to the couch; but this time it had returned even stronger. It was truly overpowering.

He felt drugged by Peter's nearness, listening to him breathe, allowing Peter's finger to play with his lower lip, and the fact that he wasn't fighting it made it somehow even more exciting. He almost _liked_ this helpless feeling, and that couldn't be good. Sensory overload caused by Peter—his impossibly shiny blond hair and how it contrasted against his black sweater, Peter's uncharacteristic aggression and the suave way he conducted himself was awe-inspiring. This behavior was unheard of in Peter.

What did Peter have planned? Davy shivered and winced a little because he didn't know how to stop it. The vibration of his own trembling, that was. Not what Peter was doing. He could stop _that_ very easily. But the alarming aspect about it was that he didn't _want_ to.

In fact, he didn't want to analyze anymore—he just wanted to _feel._ So he went on allowing Peter to trace both of his lips now, with a single finger. Peter's head had moved in closer too. Now there was barely a foot between their faces.

A really big shock for Davy was when his cock started to stir. _Oh no, not that!_ But, he'd promised himself there would be no more analyzing, no worrying, just _feeling._

"Can I get in a little closer?" Peter's voice bobbled a little bit. His cheeks were streaked with a dark pink blush.

Davy knew what Peter meant. What this whole scenario meant. If you had half a brain, you'd have no trouble putting the pieces of the very obvious puzzle together. Peter wanted to snuggle, cuddle, or even worse, _kiss_ him. Davy had put that notion aside for last in his consideration. It was too much for him to digest.

At the same time though, Davy grudgingly had to admit to himself that he was kind of craving it. All this attention from Peter. He was also curious, and had to remind himself that this was the kind of thing that killed the cat. He was up for just about any adventure, but _this_ one?

 _Keep your cool, go with the flow. Slow your roll._

He tried to amuse and distract himself with these anecdotes, but he couldn't sidetrack himself from the bewilderment, or more precisely, the horror of Peter's actions. He was about to admonish himself silently again about not analyzing this when Peter leaned closer, his finger still on Davy's lower lip, and lightly kissed him squarely on the mouth.

It happened so quickly. Peter gave him no time to fight, straightening up again immediately and fixing him with a " _who, me_?" look.

"Sorry. I had to. I had to see what they'd feel like . . . on my own lips. I've been tantalized by them for like a million forevers . . . "

Davy was incapable of saying a single word. Only Peter would have been able to get away with that. Only Peter, out of all the guys in the world. Davy just sat there, frozen in time, afraid to move, afraid that this would be reality, and not a dream. A _pleasant_ dream, to be sure, but not, by a long shot, like any other dream he'd ever had.

Peter tried to go in for kiss number two, and Davy dodged him. "Quite enough, Mate," he said a bit harshly, trying to give the impression that he wasn't extremely rattled, just a little irked. He didn't want Peter to know how much he'd gotten to him.

It didn't work. Peter pulled Davy's head into his chest and held it there, kissing and nuzzling his temple. Davy didn't have the strength to fight. It felt too exquisite. He breathed Peter in deeply. His clean, soapy smell from a recent shower, mixed with his own slight natural man musk. Davy was intoxicated, and it shocked him deeply. But, an echo of his earlier thoughts reminded him again that he didn't want to think or analyze anymore. He just wanted to _feel._ He needed to live up to that. Why, he had no idea.

Peter leaned back slightly on the couch, drawing Davy with him. Davy shifted, hoping Peter would think he was trying to get comfortable. Truth was, Davy was snuggling in closer.

"You're diggin' it, aren't you?" asked Peter in a voice that was raised only slightly above a whisper.

"No, man! I'm a lady killer," and Davy giggled slightly, nervously.

"Not at the moment. I'm reaping the benefits of having you alone," Peter hazarded to say, even though he was afraid he'd sputter out the wrong thing and turn Davy completely off. "You reap what you sow."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Davy.

"I've been nurturing our relationship for a long time. I want the seed to grow into a plant."

Davy sighed, understanding perfectly well what Peter was getting at.

Peter was stroking Davy's ego, which Davy was a sucker for, but what he liked even more was how Peter was taking charge.

Wasn't happening though, Davy thought to himself. Peter could _like_ him all he wanted, but Davy had to take a stand. He was not queer.

"Why wouldn't you let me shell out the bread for the pizza tonight?" Peter decided changing the subject about now might be smart.

"You'd already paid for Mike and Micky to go to dinner and the movies."

"You're a gas, David. I like you all the time; sober, or even blitzed on booze or stoned. And . . . you're fine as wine. Let's just sit here, be laid back."

Davy was thrown off a little at Peter's complimentary words, but content to do just as Peter suggested. No one in the world was as relaxing to be with as Peter. He had to admit that.

"Do you want to rap, or just chill?" asked Davy.

"Doesn't matter to me. I figure you'd split by now if you didn't like this."

"I . . . I guess I need to get my chickens in a line," said Davy.

"What?"

"My chickens in a line."

Peter looked perplexed. "Oh, you mean, your ducks in a row?"

"Yeah, whatever. I need to be responsible, and this isn't exactly that."

"Like I said, slow your roll and mellow out."

That was hard to argue with. And who wanted to argue anyway? Arguing with himself was pointless, as he got nowhere with the "I'm not queer" as opposed to "just feel." And Peter was so solid and supportive that arguing with him was really impervious. Someone who is so peace –loving rarely has the inclination to squabble. Davy urged himself to unwind against Peter's chest. Maybe he'd come to terms with it, and be able to think clearly again.

When he mistakenly allowed his gaze to wander up to try to unravel his thoughts while attempting to probe Peter's own thoughts by studying Peter's face, the blond's eyes pinned his.

"It's a drag," murmured Peter.

"What is?"

"The fact that you're trying to reach inside my mind, when all you have to do is ask me. And don't play dumb. It's not becoming to you, because you're uncommonly sharp."

Well, it seemed Peter had just unveiled all his reflections in one sentence.

"What do you want, Peter?" Davy just blurted it out because he was having a skirmish with his own unsettling thoughts.

"To kiss you . . . just . . . kiss you."

"You already tried that stunt."

"No . . . a real kiss, not a peck," Peter reprimanded him with an edge to his voice that was a little sharper than a butter knife. Not enough to cut, but enough to get Davy's attention.

"Why?" Davy was stalling, because he already _knew_ the reason why. Peter fancied him, obviously.

"Because I want to. And you want it too." Now Peter had crossed the line. Davy hadn't admitted to anything—not yet. And now he wasn't at all sure he ever would, after Peter had said that. Peter was making assumptions, and Davy resented that hotly. His opinions were his own, and he didn't allow anyone to presume anything about him. And surely not a suddenly overconfident Peter who seemed to think he was entitled. Entitled to do Davy's thinking for him.

"Rubbish! Sod off! Don't fucking tell me what I want!"

Peter didn't react. Smooth seduction made his eyelids heavy looking to Davy. And yes, he _was_ seducing Davy. And openly, too. Not even being sneaky. As Davy tried to push off Peter to sit upright again, Peter repeated his name over and over, in a serene, borderline steamy way that had Davy nestling back into his chest in no time, feeling very fickle all the while.

 _Nobody could do that._ No one but Peter. Davy's desire to liberate himself of Peter was rapidly evaporating. He refused to admit it to Peter, but Peter had spoken the truth.

So, trapped in Peter's arms, albeit not fighting it a bit, Davy reluctantly and cautiously enjoyed Peter's clingy neediness. It wasn't an undesirable neediness, it just spoke of commitment on Peter's part. A commitment that the blond had apparently adopted some time ago. Sometimes it was a very good thing to be such an honest, straightforward person. And other times it could get you into very hot water. Peter was fortunate Davy wasn't inclined to punch him in the nose. Because most guys would have long before now.

Davy shot an imploring look up at Peter again, who was just sitting there, gazing down at him, his hair falling over his eyes, which were full of sultry lust, and he looked like a fucking wet dream.

 _Oh God._

So he'd been denying it. For all this time. His breathing was becoming choppy, and Peter's had been for some time already. It would be gross to kiss Peter, or any man. Davy knew that instinctively. Yet, why was he allowing Peter to slide his fingertips over his jaw and neck? There must be some perfectly feasible explanation. Trouble was, reason was deserting Davy.

He wanted to find out. Yeah, he _needed_ to find out if kissing Peter would be gross. Otherwise, he would never know . . .

Peter must have sensed Davy's ambivalence, because he selected just that moment to lift Davy's chin with a gentle hand under his jaw, tilting Davy's head up just enough to softly kiss his lips again. Davy didn't encourage him; in fact, he withdrew a fraction of a second before Peter had a chance to end it on a positive note.

It was pleasant, but was it pleasant _enough?_ Davy didn't want to get any deeper into this thing if he was going to get painfully turned off. At this point though, it didn't seem within the realm of possibility. Peter's approach had been calculated and precise. He'd known just what Davy needed. No pressure, just a subtle coaxing.

The next time Peter kissed him, Davy allowed his lips to linger just a bit before recoiling. Peter realized he was making headway, although very slowly. He hoped for a breakthrough, but gave himself a dressing down in the same breath not to count his chickens. This reminded him of Davy's "chickens in a line," and he laughed before he could stop himself.

"Whatcha laughin' at?" Davy sounded on the perturbed side. Like he might be insulted.

"Nothing to do with this," Peter hoped Davy wouldn't ask him to enlarge on it, because it was more than likely to kill the mood.

Peter had a way of stalking him that was quite disconcerting. He did it without moving a muscle. All he had to do was snag Davy's eyes with his own, and Davy was a goner. Davy knew this by now, and cleverly sidestepped Peter's attempts to delve into his soul with those devilish hazel orbs.

Davy was no good at feigning indifference, and Peter could not be dissuaded, so it was only a matter of time before Peter began to advance again without Davy's conscious knowledge. He was so damn gradual. His hand rested on Davy's back, in the small space where his shirt had ridden up above his belt when Peter had pulled him close.

Peter's hand didn't move—it just rested there, on Davy's bare flesh, but Davy was hyper aware of it. So much so that he didn't make any changes in his position for fear of losing that contact. Peter's hand was large, warm, and comforting. And yeah, stimulating.

Davy berated himself for being so weak. He'd always been a pushover for intimacy, although never with another guy, to be sure. Peter's hand was now starting to explore, although in a very illusive way. His fingertips cruising casually, they traveled under Davy's shirt and a short way up his back, then back down his side, returning to the strip of skin where he had begun. His callused fingers skating over Davy's flesh had an unusual effect on Davy. Astonished, Davy became conscious of the fact that Peter's rough fingers felt just as nice as a girl's soft, silky fingers. Just as sensual, just as intimate, but in a deliciously different way.

The blood was rushing in Davy's ears as Peter's fingers began a new expedition, this time slithering over to his belly and up toward his chest. Davy could foretell the future without much trouble. He was going to get turned on. No . . . not quite right. He _was_ turned on.

"Um . . ." Davy half choked, half cleared his throat. "Let me go, Pete."

"Why? Does it feel good?" Peter was always so maddeningly upfront that Davy wanted to shake him. He wasn't letting go of him either.

"Motherfucker!" Davy exclaimed, exasperated, mad as a hornet at himself for allowing this, and getting frighteningly horny. He shoved off Peter's chest and wrenched free. A trace of a smile ghosted the corners of Davy's lips as he retreated, and it didn't get past Peter. It was all Peter needed. If he could just play his cards right . . .


	3. Chapter 3

Davy's outburst hadn't set Peter back at all. He just lounged carelessly and gorged his eyes on Davy's hard, lean, always tan body. Living on the beach in Malibu treated Davy well.

"You're a fox, David," he said quietly. Sincerity laced his voice.

When did that bassist ever give up?

"You're wipin' me out, Pete."

"How so?"

"You're trying to wear me down, aren't you?"

Peter's eyes gleamed. Only half teasing, he said, "Yeah."

"Well, you're doing a right good job at it. I oughta smack you around a few times, drill some sense into your head."

Peter held his arms wide. "Go ahead. I'm ready."

Davy knew it was a trap. Peter would only take advantage of the closeness. So he stubbornly stayed where he was, sitting three feet from Peter. Peter made a split second decision and lunged forward, catching Davy around the upper arms with his hands, gripping tightly and yanking Davy down on top of him. Once again, Davy had not been vigilant enough to see it coming.

Where were his quick reactions? Was he becoming unguarded and unmindful? Or maybe he had unconsciously _wanted_ Peter to make a move. . .

Peter had him, loving every moment of it, considering how prominent his dimple was as he smiled up at Davy. Davy didn't try overly hard to get away, as that would waste this up close and personal moment, and it just might not be easy to recapture. Davy had the presence of mind to know that his thoughts were conflicting and hypocritical, but even as he fought it, he was finding it very difficult to resist Peter for any length of time.

"You're a trip, Peter," he said, giggling and pretending to struggle. Peter didn't know it, but Davy was losing himself. Peter was getting to him. But he mustn't let Peter see that. His pride wouldn't let him.

The next thing he knew, their lips were locked. How it had happened was anyone's guess. Davy knew that he, himself, had not gone in to kiss Peter, but their heads had nearly knocked together as they rough housed, and somehow their lips had come very close. Peter had simply not been able to curb himself.

This time, the tables turned. Davy was willing, having cast aside his last bit of resistance. He'd hidden his true feelings for a majority of the time they'd been playing this flirting game. He was weakening and falling victim fast. Moreover, he was much more than a willing victim. He was behaving like he did with girls. Really turning on the heat and finally kissing Peter with a lot less inhibition. His pride took a leave of absence with no notice.

His eagerness gave Peter the essential boost he needed to lose any remaining reserve, and their kisses became wild and passionate. Davy didn't care that his dignity was going out the window—that was how turned on he was.

He _knew_ Peter. Knew him up, down and sideways. That was an aphrodisiac all by itself. They had a history, a long term affection for each other. They _understood_ each other. They had all the things that are needed to build a relationship on. A firm, unwavering foundation of trust, a mutual respect.

So Davy finally stopped thinking and liberated himself in order to _feel._ To feel Peter's hands in his hair, hear the blond's plaintiff whimpers that he couldn't hold back, feel his hungry lips, his slippery velvety tongue against his own.

Their legs were entwined like snakes, firm and taut. Nothing soft about it, need gripping them snugly. Peter would ask for a little more, and Davy would yield every time. Davy loved this. He'd always been the aggressor, but he was finding that he also liked being passive. He began giving Peter free rein to make all the moves, all the decisions. What a delightful change it was. It was completely out of character for him, and that was part of the excitement of it.

Peter dragged his lips away from Davy's long enough to say, "Do you really want this? Because if I start, I don't know if I can stop." Those words aroused Davy to new heights, and he wasn't quite sure why.

Davy didn't answer because Peter was kissing him again, so he only made a slight mewling noise in his throat that Peter must have taken as acquiesce, because Peter's actions spoke volumes louder than words.

Peter's hand was straying, and somewhere in the back of Davy's mind, he was aware of it. In the next moment, Peter was gripping his erection through his pants, while still kissing Davy with a fierce possessiveness.

Davy couldn't recoil or object with Peter's hand wedged between them, palm up. It felt too good, and Davy was weak with desire. Peter's hand then began to stroke him.

"Groovy, far out," Peter's voice was crackly, as if he had a sore throat. But Davy knew better. It was emotion. Pure emotion. He knew Peter's feelings for him were deep, as the only other time Davy had heard Peter's voice go all wonky like that was when a kitten had almost gotten attacked by a dog, and Peter had saved it just in time.

Davy's hand slid down toward Peter's crotch, and he rubbed the gigantic bulbous bulge in Peter's pants. _Enormous_ , mused Davy.

"Wanna suck you off," Peter's words sliced right through Davy, the strained tone of it raspy and clingy. Davy hadn't thought it possible to be more turned on, but those words accomplished it in a nano second. Never had he ever dreamed a guy would be begging to suck him, and he'd be wanting it recklessly, frantically, furiously.

Peter got them both undressed faster than Davy could blink. The very second they were naked, Peter sunk to his crotch, aggressively engulfed Davy's cock into his mouth and voraciously went to work. Right then, Davy no longer had any questions remaining that Peter had fancied him and wanted him for a while. Maybe a very long while. It felt so natural, so ungodly stimulating that Davy moaned out loud.

"Take it, take all of it, Pete," Davy croaked, his voice also having taken on a strange gruff, grating quality.

Peter sucked the head strongly, holding the very base with one hand and stroking with the other hand, licking that tender spot with every upstroke. Then he did away with his hands altogether and sucked Davy all the way to the root, his nose smashed into Davy's pubic hair.

Davy's gasp filled the room. Being practically all the way into Peter's throat was the most erotic thing he'd ever felt in his life. No girl had come close to bringing him this kind of ecstasy. He could actually feel Peter opening his throat, eagerly admitting his cock as if he literally wanted to eat it.

The way Peter was devouring him threw Davy into a tailspin, and he almost lost all the control he had left, which wasn't much. All of Peter's emotions were going into this, and Davy came to wonder how much Peter must have yearned to do this—to be this close to him.

The tingling went from Davy's cock to his balls, and all the way down to his toes, the pent-up lust for Peter that he'd never known had been there, surfacing in a rush. The sucking never stopped, Peter's tongue never ceased lashing and massaging. He was taking Davy to the kind of sexual high he'd never thought was possible. The bassist's passion ran deep and frantic.

Soon, very soon, Davy felt his orgasm building, and he took Peter's hair in his hands a little too roughly, thrusting into his mouth. Peter didn't miss a beat, loving every minute of it, welcoming it. Faster and faster his head bobbed and his tongue flicked, all the while Peter slurped and moaned as if he were really enjoying it.

Davy's hands, still clenching Peter's hair, abruptly stopped his head movements so the blond was completely motionless, and Davy, with a bellow, reached the summit. He spurted long and hard and forceful down Peter's throat, a guttural growl now humming in his throat.

Davy was completely out of breath, this never having happened with a girl. He gasped and sweated, his hands still in Peter's hair as Peter mouthed him gently, letting him ride out his climax, then letting Davy deflate slowly to a half-hard state. Davy's hips still rocked now and then, the magical feeling lingering, and Peter giving him all the time in the world.

As soon as Davy came down enough to be able to form a coherent thought, he was way beyond embarrassed. He was afraid that if he didn't speak now, he wouldn't be able to. What they'd done was so taboo . . .

"My God, Pete. You act as if you've done that a thousand times," he said.

"I have . . . in my dreams," Peter answered softly. "To you," he added a moment later to be certain Davy understood the depth of his feelings—how much importance he put in this. If Davy only knew how deep his loyalty ran.

"You've always been where it's at for me," Peter added, not wanting to allow the silence to rule.

"All of this . . . this whole evening. . . for me," Davy was still blown out of the water at the lengths Peter had gone to, just to be alone with him.

"I'd do anything for you," was Peter's hushed answer. Davy's heart did some kind of little flip at Peter's words. The guy was so sincere, it was almost heartbreaking.

"Want to go into the bedroom?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." Davy got up off the couch, preparing to get back into his clothes, but Peter barricaded him. "No, please stay just like you are." So Davy walked up the stairs, aware of the burn of Peter's eyes on his butt every step of the way. When they had shut the bedroom door behind them, Davy indicated Peter's clothes.

"Aren't you taking those off, Mate? Seems a bit on the cruel side to keep me naked and you clothed."

Peter looked elated, as if he'd been waiting for Davy to say it. Secretly, he hadn't known what to do, for fear he'd offend Davy by stripping. He disposed of his clothes slowly. First his shirt, button by agonizing button, Davy's eyes studying every move he made, every bit of flesh that came into view. How had it slipped past him for so long? He had been so busy with girls that he'd never taken a good, long look at Peter the way he was now. The guy had such a nice body, and a great attitude to go with it. He was a good catch, and Davy was about to benefit from that.

When Peter slipped off his pants, Davy got a stark reminder that Peter didn't wear underwear. The guy was totally erect and just magnificent. The length and girth took Davy's breath away. The huge, heavy head stood almost completely straight up. How in the world did it defy gravity like that?

Peter wasn't timid in the least. He grinned and flashed his dimple as he sat down on the bed next to Davy. Being naked, and even erect while naked didn't seem to phase him in the least. He was so in touch with nature. Davy reckoned that if it were possible, Peter would go around naked all the time.

That hard-on though, it was intimidating. Davy couldn't imagine doing to it what Peter had done to him. And then it hit him—Peter had freely given, and was not expecting anything in return. It was apparent he was happy just to be with Davy, even though his body revealed his urgent need. Peter's body was betraying him, and that brought Davy's famous smile into play. How could you hide a monster like that, anyway?

"What got into you anyway, Peter?" he asked. "I didn't think you had it in you to be so aggressive, and take charge like you did."

Peter shrugged, although his pink cheeks gave away the fact that he was aroused. "I was tired of waiting, and I knew if I didn't draw up a plan and make a move, I'd never find out how you feel . . . about me."

Davy had to admire his friend's initiative. He was admiring the blond in more ways than one, because now his mouth was watering badly to the point of almost drooling. Peter wasn't demanding like the girls he'd dated, didn't bitch, didn't expect anything as his due, and that caused Dave to want to indulge him.

Fear gripped his gut, but Davy allowed his hand to stray over to Peter's thigh, intending to creep in slowly and gradually. He didn't want Peter going all ballistic on him and thrusting wildly, as the mere thought was frightening. That thing could be a massive weapon!

Not that Peter would do it purposely, but he sometimes didn't know his own strength. Davy tried to still the thumping in his chest, but fear of the unknown was closing in on him. He figured he'd better start out with just a hand job, because the thought of that giant thing coming at his face was way past unsettling.

When Davy finally touched Peter's cock lightly, Peter transformed again into a beast. He purred and raised his pelvis in response to Davy's hand. Davy could see Peter's pulse pounding in his temple, and knew how hard it was for Peter to hold back.

"Lick it, David. Nothing more. Just lick it."

Davy was downright shocked, jarred, stunned. He never thought, in this lifetime, that he'd hear Peter talk like that. And just hearing those words come from Peter's mouth got him rock hard again. Peter saw it, and smiled, looking very pleased with himself.

Davy leaned over and swiped the tip of Peter's cock with lightning speed, before he could talk himself out of it. The moan that Peter emitted was nearly enough to cause him to erupt without even touching his own cock.

"God, David. That sweet little tongue of yours. I felt it in my dreams, wanted it to be reality, and now it is."

Davy didn't want to stop now. He nibbled, then licked again. Peter's hips began to buck. Davy slid down so he was kneeling at the side of the bed, edging his way between Peter's legs. Peter was now making harsh gasping sounds. Davy traced the vein on the underside of Peter's cock to the base with the tip of his tongue. Then he remembered how Peter had sucked him, and he tried to imitate it. He was clumsy and awkward, but he must have been doing _something_ right, because Peter was acting a bit chaotic with his hips and gulping in air like he hadn't breathed in a week.

Davy snaked his tongue around the tip, licked the glans, spiraling and whorling it up and down Peter's cock, but still afraid to take it into his mouth. Peter solved that problem without even meaning to. He thrust up at the exact moment Davy was smothering the head of his cock with the flat of his tongue, and his cock popped right into Davy's mouth.

Davy tasted pre-come right away, but instead of repelling him, it made him crave more, so he sucked. Being aroused as he was, it was easy to be risque. He couldn't get much more in than the head and another couple of inches, but Peter wasn't particular. He was just tickled to death that Davy actually _wanted_ to do this.

"That sucking you're doing is . . . out of this world," Peter ground out breathlessly, wanting Davy to suck even harder. As if he were a mind reader, Davy did, and Peter delivered a mixed bag of various grunts and animal sounds.

"Oh fuck . . .I'm gonna come," Peter's voice was little more than a strained whine. Davy, who had been getting progressively more and more into it, balked at the idea of Peter coming. As soon as he felt Peter's cock harden even more than it was already, he knew he had to make a split second decision.

He drew back, still pumping Peter's cock with his hand, just in time for Peter to let out a wail, and begin spurting all over Davy and his own stomach and chest.

Davy thought it would last forever. A writhing, trashing Peter, with come jetting from him—more than Davy figured he'd ever come in his life. An anguished plea came from deep in Peter's throat.

"I'm sorry . . . "

Davy, still in shock, was in no condition to ask Peter _why_ he was sorry. All he could do was sit and stare at the incredible sticky mess. He got up a moment later to go to the bathroom to clean up. He brought a washcloth out to Peter afterward, and Peter was most grateful.

"Thanks, man," he said, wiping himself up and going to rinse the washcloth in the bathroom.

They laid back on the bed, side by side, but not touching. Davy was finally able to articulate, so he asked Peter why he was sorry.

"That I didn't give you more warning."

"Damn it, you make me feel terrible. _I_ didn't give _you_ any warning at all!" Davy felt like a heel of the lowest order.

"But . . . I wanted it."

Davy didn't know what to say, because he realized Peter was being honest. He knew that because of how eagerly Peter had accepted what Davy had to give him. As for himself, he wasn't sure if he'd wanted it or not. That was why he'd withdrawn. He'd been terrified. Terrified he would throw up or panic. He envied Peter because the guy was so giving and inherently accepting.

Peter had spied Davy's brand new erection. It had vanished when he'd gone to the bathroom, but now that they were on the bed together again, it was back, and that pleased him immensely. He wasn't worried about Davy's reaction to his orgasm. In fact, he was still finding it hard to believe he and Davy had done as much as they had. Davy had wanted him, and that was his dream come true.

"Here, let's see how you like this," said Peter as he rolled over and licked Davy's nipple. It hardened almost immediately into a stiff peak. Davy tried to hide his reaction, as it brought him an eerie kind of pleasure, but Peter kept it up, and pretty soon he _couldn't_ hide it any more. He squirmed and closed his eyes. Peter didn't miss a trick. He felt Davy's body responding.

He sucked it then, throwing in a nibble here and there. Davy's head lolled; he was, obviously a bit overcome. Peter went for the other nipple, giving it much the same treatment.

"Tingly?" asked Peter. Davy was embarrassed to admit it, but hell yeah, it tingled! All the way down to his crotch, making his sex flex. "Just another erogenous zone. Lots of guys like it too, not just chicks. I read that somewhere. I've never had a girl do it to me."

"Nor me," admitted Davy.

Peter had brought him pleasure in oral sex, even swallowed, and now his nipples, and Davy had done very little for Peter. It wasn't that he didn't want to, it was just that this was all so new and completely foreign.

With his cock hard as cement, Davy's mind wandered to wicked things, and he craved Peter's cock in his mouth again . . . only this time he would make it as good for Peter as Peter had made it for him. If only he could find the nerve . . .


	4. Chapter 4

They were kinda stuck. There was too much silence, and Peter felt a slight stutter in his heart. A flicker of something that threatened to steal his breath. Should he pursue this, or leave well enough alone? He was ahead, so why not quit now, before he fucked up so badly that there would be no way back? He sensed Davy's trepidation and feared the Englishman would shut down. Not that he was selfish. He wasn't; he would never push Davy into anything his friend wasn't into one hundred percent. Causing Davy distress would kill Peter.

He had acted on a hunch that Davy had feelings for him that turned out not to be fully realized. Even though Davy had responded, his heart hadn't fully been in it. Not all the way. Peter's intuitive nature picked it up, and he couldn't dislodge it.

Had Davy done this out of a sense of obligation? There had been so many times that Peter had gotten a vibe from Davy that he couldn't explain. One thing he did know was that what the two of them had went beyond friendship, subconscious or not. He swore Davy had looked at him with a kind of repressed longing in his eyes. Peter was pretty sure his hunch was right on the mark. Otherwise, Davy would not have participated in what had happened tonight. Davy was anything but subtle when he didn't like something. And it hadn't been just pure horniness either. If that were the case, Davy would have made a phone call and had a girl over within minutes. But Davy's sudden distance made Peter hold on to his doubts.

Peter liked to think it was _him_ Davy wanted. So many options were open to his friend. Yet, Davy was here, with him, not someone else. Had to be a reason for that. He figured Davy was simply containing his feelings, maybe even remorseful at this point, and Peter wanted to convince him that he was safe with Peter. Whatever he decided about what they'd done-whether he wanted to try to forget it ever happened, or if he wanted to continue, Peter would honor it.

"Take a shower together?" Peter thought maybe the warm water would be relaxing for the both of them.

"I dunno," Davy was acting as if he was drifting in another world. Perhaps he was in shock. Very possible. This must have been a jolt to the Englishman's system. Because, even though Peter wanted Davy in a huge way, if Davy had come onto him like this, he had to admit he would have been stunned at first.

"I stink a little," Peter grinned. Might as well joke around a bit. It might bring Davy back to life.

"Nah, you do not."

"Yes I do. That was quite a workout. Wanna smell my armpit?"

Davy ducked as Peter approached him with raised arms.

"If you pushed it in my nose, then yeah, maybe there'd be a little stink," said Davy thoughtfully. "But I can't smell you from here—at least nothing offensive."

"Well, you decide then, that is, about what we do. Shower or not."

Davy shrugged. "Okay, let's take a shower."

In the shower stall, Davy and Peter soaped up, and when Peter began to suds up his cock, it went from half hard to full mast.

"That thing is a work of art," said Davy, his eyes riveted to Peter's goods.

"So is yours, believe me. Just on a smaller scale."

They gawked at each others' bodies openly, neither one possessing the will power to look away.

 _We're in the shower. Lots of water. Maybe it'll work out better here._ Davy's thoughts flitted around in his head.

He realized he could easily dispose of Peter's come if he needed to, and if he was lucky, it might not even be detected. So he decided to experiment. He was rarely this horny right after coming, in fact he couldn't remember the last time he'd needed almost no recovery time.

His tongue poked out and fluttered against Peter's neck. Peter giggled, but wasn't about to let the opportunity slip away. He drew close, until their chests touched, and licked Davy's neck to show his approval and receptiveness. Next, Davy's tongue found and pressed against Peter's nipple, then swirled it in the slippery suds around Peter's nipples and chest, the texture of Peter's chest hair stimulating the nerves in Davy's tongue. Peter made a quiet "Ahhh" sound that was almost a groan. He practiced strict restraint though, and gave Davy full control. He somehow knew this was the quickest way Davy would get over his fear. Yeah, he could semi-force him, but Peter would rather Davy "discover" him by himself, willingly. It would be a richer experience, and it would elevate Davy's confidence too. He was such a master with women, but quite bumbling with a man.

Breasts, clits and vaginas were one thing, a cock, balls and man-nipples quite another. Peter felt so graced that Davy was getting into him the way he was. When Davy stopped licking, and pulled Peter's nipple into his mouth, it was all Peter could do to hold back from attacking the Brit in a sexual frenzy.

Davy allowed his lower body to get especially close, their dicks touched, and the slipperiness of the soap allowed them to glide against each other deliciously. Peter had a momentary lapse in control when he purposely thrust himself against Davy. Davy clasped Peter around the waist and granted it, and more than that. He moved against him, and in tandem, they dry humped each other. Only it wasn't dry at all—it was smooth and slick because of the soap, and their gasps emerged in stereo form.

"God, that's good," Peter murmured, licking Davy's ear, nibbling the lobe, breathing as heavily as a dragon in heat.

Davy reached down of his own accord, clasping his hand around Peter's thick, heavy cock, holding it so the cascading water would rinse it of the soap, then went to his knees.

Peter held his breath, afraid to breathe or move in any way. He felt Davy's hot breath ghosting against the skin of his cock, the area where Peter's upper leg joined his pelvis, and on his balls. He wanted to cry out with the wantonness that seized him and just about crushed him. His desire was through the ceiling, but Davy's hot breath continued to tease him cruelly.

When Davy's tongue finally made contact, Peter stifled a yelp. A tortured yelp. The slit on the head of Peter's cock was being massaged by Davy's tongue now. Massaged, licked, pressed, until it entered the slit, causing Peter's legs to tremble and quiver.

"Oh fuck. That feels so good, babe . . . " Peter's legs felt as if they would buckle, and he braced himself against the shower walls with the heels of his hands.

Davy took his time with it. He sucked the head lightly, then with more greed. He ran his tongue up and down the length of Peter's shaft, ending at his balls, and then taking them gently into his mouth, pulling at the skin with his lips, then sucking them one at a time with a downward pressure. Peter gulped, trying furiously to keep from shoving forward and fucking the hell out of Davy's mouth.

Davy was ready—ready for anything. He wanted the taste of Peter on his tongue. He licked faster and faster, until his tongue was like a striking snake, lashing over and over, loving it just as much as if Peter was doing it to him. Now he understood Peter's crazy desire, because he was now feeling it himself. Making Peter feel good was putting him on an incredible high. The same kind of high Peter had experienced when sucking him.

Peter's gutteral growl told Davy he was making headway. Peter was approaching climax, a beautiful rhythm between them. Peter's pelvic rocks kept time with the wet-mouthed dives on his cock. Farther and farther down, until Davy could go no further; it was something so different than Peter had ever felt or dreamed about before. The innocence of Davy's virgin mouth (with guys, anyway) was a massive turn-on. Although Davy's mouth only covered barely one half of Peter's cock, it felt far better than Peter thought could ever be possible.

When Davy threw in a nibble or two on the head, being careful not to nip hard, Peter reacted with a violent roar. His hands pressing the back of Davy's head, he urged him to suck again. The moment Davy acquiesced, Peter erupted like a volcano, his spurts hot and as strong as a fireman's hose, filling Davy's mouth. It was copious and creamy, and Davy fancied the taste as he eagerly swallowed every drop. Peter thrashed around so much that they were in danger of slipping. Feeling Davy's mouth still applying suction and licks of his tongue as Peter was actively coming was, well, there couldn't possibly be anything better.

Davy continued to suck Peter gently afterward, as Peter had done to him. For some reason, this post-orgasm stimulation was satisfying to both partners. It wasn't the frenzied, mad type of sucking that had occurred before climax, but was very mild, sweet and lingering. Peter's hips rocked gently as Davy finished and his lips made a popping sound as they came free of Peter's cock.

When Davy got to his feet, Peter held him close. "I've loved you—I've loved you for too long," Peter let his passion-heavy words rain down on Davy, who looked up at him with those big brown eyes of his, and Peter saw that they were adoring. Davy felt the same—Peter was sure of it. It would just take time for Davy to adapt to this, and confess his feelings.

"Right, Mate. It's good between us, it is."

They left the shower, dried each other off, and went to bed.

Peter brought Davy off again with his mouth in bed, as he had noticed how hard his friend had been in the shower, and still was. In fact, looking down as Davy had sucked him in the shower, and seeing Davy's raging hard-on had brought such sensory pleasure to Peter. They were two peas in a pod. When you love giving as much as receiving with your partner, it only makes the pleasure that much greater for both.

Peter had a feeling their mutual admiration for each other would continue to grow.

After Davy's last gasp and moan of complete gratification, Peter whispered, "Jonesy, let's do this again sometime real soon, okay?"

Davy nodded eagerly. "I'll be ever so ready."


End file.
